You'll come back when it's over
by kiwi pineapple
Summary: Many years later, Susan remembers


"The books don't tell us what happened to Susan. She is left alive in this world at the end, having by then turned into a rather silly, conceited young woman. But there's plenty of time for her to mend and perhaps she will get to Aslan's country in the end . . . in her own way."

C.S. Lewis, in a letter to a fan

The air was chilly on Susan's skin. The sound of happy tourists and the soothing lapping of the water in the canals were doing nothing to calm her nerves. Susan had been so excited when John had suggested a tour to Italy. She had been thrilled at the idea of travelling and she had always adored Italian fashion, art, and music. Yet, since the moment they had landed in Venice she had felt anxious and depressed.

Her attitude had completely baffled poor John. It had been nearly 15 years since John Travers has seen pretty Susan Pevensie in a dance hall in New York. All his mates had agreed that Susan was the prettiest girl in the room, but no one wanted to approach her. Susan Pevensie had lost her entire family just the year before. Her inheritance had been enough to get her away from England's cursed shores and into a fine apartment in New York. Her money did not seem to be much of a comfort to _her _though.

Her friends insisted that the last time Susan had come to visit she had been the life of the party. That she had always known where to find the prettiest dresses and how to apply lipstick just so. That she could always be found at the hippest party on the arm of the most eligible man. There was no evidence of such a girl now. Susan came to all of the parties looking as pretty as a peach, but none of the lads wanted to dance with a girl whose eyes reminded them of heartbreak and death. John Travers, however, was sunshine made man. His permanent boyish grin, witty banter, and beautiful face had made Susan smile that night. John was her everything from that point on and he only ever saw her with a deep frown or tears in her eyes on the anniversary of the day she lost everything or on her siblings' birthdays. Her sullen mood now left him completely mystified.

He, however, could not help her while their little girl was trying to dive deeper and deeper into the piazza. "Maria! Get back here, dear! You don't want to get lost." Maria was their daughter. She had been named for John's mother, but her temperament was so like Lucy at that age. Eight years old and terribly precocious. Travel abroad perfectly suited the young girl's adventurous nature and unending wonder.

Maria was Susan's second child. John had let her name their first child. He had thought that she would want to honor one of her lost relatives, he though Peter would suit their blonde little boy perfectly. Susan, however, had not relished the idea of conjuring ghosts every time she called her baby boy. Instead, she had wanted to honor her happier memories. She had pulled a name from their silly fantasies of that far away land, whose name she sometimes struggled to remember. She had named him Caspian. Their socialite friends had wrinkled their brows at the unusual name, but Susan simply said it was exotic. Caspian was clinging to his father's hand and staring at every statue and mosaic decorating the buildings around the piazza.

Susan wanted to focus on her children, on the history of this beautiful city, the gorgeous fashion on display all around her, but she couldn't focus. She felt like she was being watched. She couldn't figure out _what_ it was, but she couldn't relax. They were walking past St. Mark's Basilica when the feeling intensified. She swept her eyes around the courtyard, but no one seemed to be paying any special attention to yet another family of tourists from America.

Her attention was then caught by the winged lion in the elaborate facade of the basilica. There were lions all over this ancient city. Susan used to love those majestic beasts, but these statues were making her anxious. Maybe they were the reason she felt watched. Those blank stone eyes seemed to be following her around. As she gazed at the basilica, St. Mark's lion seemed to be catching every beam of sunlight.

Susan couldn't look away now. The eyes of the lion, which had previously been lost in shadow, now seemed to shine. Susan tried to tell herself that it was ridiculous to think that a statue was staring at her, but there was no denying the focus and _purpose_ in those golden eyes. Then, his mane was _flowing_ in the wind. Susan suddenly knew that if she were to sink her fingers into His coat it would be soft, like velvet.

Susan felt warmth course through her. She felt the warm sun on her bare arms and the weight of a quiver between her shoulder blades. She saw the golden glint of Peter's hair and the flash of his armor. She saw the worried lines of Edmund's face by the light of the campfire as he sharpened his dagger. She heard the quick steps of Lucy's dancing steps and the lilt of her laugh when Mr. Tumnus whispered something to her. Oh, but that couldn't be right. They never grew so old. They were taken so early, but then how could she see them so clearly. How would she know what Edmund sounded like as a man or how Lucy would have grown up to look just like their mother. She wanted to run, run away from the memories, from all the pain.

But then her mouth seemed to fill with the rich taste of sweet Summer Wine and her fingers remembered the feeling of thick brocade. The sound of mermaids laughter and the scent of the Beavers' baking. Soft slippers against the castle floor and bare feet in the wild forest. War and peace. Love and sorrow. The music of the Dryads and the cheer of her people, of Narnians. Oh_,_ Narnia. _Aslan, forgive me._

John had finally caught Maria's arm and turned to find Susan in the crowd. And was shocked to see tears flowing down her face. It must have been the light, but her curls seemed brighter and her skin clearer. He was overcome by a need to kneel before her, for surely this ethereal creature could not be his meek wife. He watched Susan take a single step forward, and then, everything seem to change. She stopped crying and turned to him.

"Oh John, how terribly silly I've been!"

In Aslan's country, so far and yet so close, the trees seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and the clouds cleared for a moment. Lucy looked up from her chess game and smiled at Edmund. She then looked to Peter, sitting close by, and said, "She's back."

I never liked how C.S. Lewis talked about Susan in _The Last Battle. _I always thought she just felt the loss of Narnia the hardest. The other three were able to cope with the idea that Narnia was just lost to them, but for Susan it was just gone. She went from being a Queen to being just another overlooked, underestimated, undervalued young woman. Maybe being pretty was the only way she could still feel powerful and maybe she couldn't deal with remembering all she'd lost. Her choice to forget was just a defense mechanism, and one day she'd let herself remember again. I love her so much, and I hope she got this kind of moment eventually.

The title if form Regina Spektor's "The Call"


End file.
